The Autumn of Terror
by Callum J. Stewart
Summary: When Jack the Ripper stalks the streets, only the world's greatest detective, Mr. Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street, can free London from the vice-like grip of the Autumn of Terror! Part of the ongoing series "Unopened Casebook of Sherlock Holmes."
1. Mr Sherlock Holmes

Being a reprint from the reminiscences of John H. Watson, M.D., late of the Army Medical Department

Edited by Callum J. Stewart

CHAPTER ONE

Mr. Sherlock Holmes

It was a dreary but otherwise nondescript morning in September when, upon arriving at 221B Baker Street, I discovered my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes in a singularly bizarre position. When I entered the room, Holmes was lying on the floor with one arm tied behind his back and he was pointing a revolver directly at my heart!

"Steady, old boy!" I exclaimed, fearing Holmes might think me an intruder and fire, but upon seeing me standing there, Holmes broke into a warm smile and bade me welcome. "Help yourself, Watson," Holmes said, signalling with the gun towards the remains of his breakfast which lay, in a state of some considerable disarray, on the table.

"My dear Holmes," I began, "what are you up to?" Holmes sprang to his feet and sat opposite me.

"Proving my theory. You remember, of course, the case of the Screaming Skull. I have just proven that Hardy could easily have murdered Vanderbilk from his prone position on the floor." Holmes began searching the room, lifting cushions and rummaging through drawers as he continued. "Hardy's defence lay in the fact that he had his right hand tied behind his back and, being right handed, could not have fired the shot that killed Vanderbilk. But I have proved otherwise." Holmes stopped and laid a hand on my shoulder. "Stand up, Watson."

"Whatever for, Holmes?" I enquired.

"Watson, as I have told you many times," Holmes began, "when one has eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however unlikely, must be the solution. Therefore, you are sitting on my pipe." I rose to my feet and, sure enough, wedged between the seat and the back of the chair, lay Holmes' favorite Calabash pipe. He picked it up and smiled slyly. "Have you a match, old boy?" he enquired and, sharing a laugh, we sat down. "Now, to business." Holmes produced a silver cigarette case from his hip pocket. "What do you make of this, Watson?"

"Now, Holmes, you're the detective" I said, taking the case from him. Holmes took out a magnifying glass and handed it to me.

"Here is the lens - you know my methods; apply them. Tell me what you deduce."

Turning the case over in my hand, it struck me as a perfectly ordinary cigarette case. "Obviously well used," I noted and Holmes nodded his assent. Opening it I discovered eight cigarettes and a book of matches. I handed the case back and said, "I see nothing, Holmes."

"On the contrary, Watson, you see everything. You fail, however, to reason from what you see. You are too so timid in drawing your inferences. From an examination of this case one can infer many things of import."

"Oh? Such as?"

Holmes leaned across the table. "The owner of this case is well to do. Despite its as you so rightly pointed out 'well used' appearance, this case is of the finest silver and was not inexpensive." Under the glass Holmes pointed to a series of small hallmarks, "these stamps beside the right hinge bear this out. Furthermore, it has not been in the gentleman's possession for a great length of time and holds very little sentimental value to him. In fact, until recently, it was in a pawn shop, most likely the one on Montague Street in Whitechapel."

This was a deduction too far. "Holmes," I started, "you cannot be serious! How can you deduce this from merely looking at it?"

"A man does not leave a family heirloom in the home of a stranger, Watson. Furthermore, observe the slight discolouration of the silver here." Holmes handed me the glass and, true to his word, the silver was discoloured slightly one on half of the case. "Silver becomes discoloured in the sun. It is therefore safe to infer that this has been displayed in a window. Now," Holmes held the box under my nose, "think back to your schooldays and tell me what you smell."

I inhaled through the nostrils and could, at first, smell nothing, but as I inhaled more deeply I detected the distinct smell of chalk. "Chalk. Very faint, but undoubtedly chalk."

"Exactly, Watson. Chalk. The pawnbroker had chalked the ticket number onto the case." Holmes continued examining the case, opening it and removing one of the cigarettes he studied it under the glass.

"But, Holmes," I asked, "how did you know which shop the item was purchased from?"

"The discoloration of the silver only extends halfway across the case, Watson. Therefore the buildings on the opposite side of the street from the pawnbrokers must be tall enough to block out the sun for a substantial portion of the day." Holmes held up his hand until the shadow cast by it covered half of the box. "Until, oh, at least half past two. The only pawnbrokers in London that matches this description is the one on Montague Street."

"Amazing, Holmes" I said, awed.

"Elementary, my dear Watson. Furthermore, the owner of the case is a man of science. Perhaps a chemist. Here, smell this." Holmes passed me the cigarette he had been examining. Holding it under my nose, I was surprised to find it fairly reeked of chemicals. "The owner had kept these cigarettes in a laboratory before he transferred them to this case. Only a scientist or a doctor, such as yourself my dear fellow, would keep such a common item as a cigarette in close proximity to such an unusual item as a vial of" Holmes sniffed the cigarette again and looked at me quizzically "amylobabitone pentathol, isn't it?"

"Precisely, Holmes." We sat for a moment or two in silence, before I remembered what I had come to ask Holmes about. "Hello," I said, "have you seen today's newspaper, old boy?"

"Of course I have, Watson, don't be ridiculous.

"They're calling it 'The Autumn of Terror' now."

"So I observed" Holmes said pointing at the headline which read 'LONDON GRIPPED IN THE AUTUMN OF TERROR.' Holmes puffed on his pipe and said, "the police are wrong."

"How'd you mean, Holmes?" I enquired.

Holmes stood up and walked to a large map of London which hung above the fireplace. There were pencil marks all over the map that marked the locations of various crimes we had investigated in the past. Holmes hunted for a pencil and, upon finding one, drew a circle on the map. "Now, Watson, this, as you know is Hanbury Street." I nodded my assent, and Holmes continued. "As you will no doubt be aware from," he indicated the newspaper on the table, "that sensationalist rag, Hanbury Street is where the police discovered the body of Annie Chapman on the morning of the eighth of September."

"Right you are, Holmes" I agreed.

"Lestrade and his men said two things that interest me. One, that the unfortunate woman was killed in Hanbury Street and, two, she had been murdered by having her throat cut by an instrument similar to one which a medical man such as yourself might use. This was reported in the newspapers, was it not?"

"Of course it was Holmes," I said, slightly irked, "but surely you can't suggest that a respected member of the medical community could be capable of such a hideous crime!"

"All men are capable of murder, Watson, you should know that by now," Holmes snapped. "But, I apologise, it was not my intent to discredit your profession, my dear fellow. Besides, it is on one of these two points that the police are mistaken."

"Go on," said I.

The familiar fire that burned in Holmes' eyes whenever he was on a case glowed as he returned to the table and sat opposite me. "Point one is correct and can easily be proved" he began. "I myself examined Miss Chapman's body on the morning she was discovered and found on her boots conclusive proof that the deceased was at least very near Hanbury Street at the time of her murder."

I smiled at my friend. "Mud again, Holmes?"

"Mud again, Watson. The mud which caked the soles of Miss Chapman's boots is only to be found in one part of this great city, old man. Whitechapel. Most likley Hanbury Street. The second point, that the murder weapon was a surgical tool is also nonsense. Based on my examination of Miss Chapman, I have concluded that any blade larger than a pocketknife could have caused the wounds on Miss Chapman's neck. Why even, this knife," Holmes indicated the knife with which he pinned correspondence to the mantelpiece, "could have killed the woman."

"So Lestrade's on the wrong track again" I laughed. "He's out hunting for surgeons when in fact any butcher, leather worker or cook in the city could be the culprit!"

"Indeed, Watson. Now, shall we eat the remainder of this breakfast?"


	2. A Strange Visitor

CHAPTER TWO

A Strange Visitor

Pouring my friend and I a cup of tea, I was about to enquire whether Holmes believed the owner of the case would return to claim it when there was a knock on the door and the landlady, Mrs. Hudson entered. She was about to announce a visitor when Holmes silenced her by holding up his hand.

"A gentleman to see me, Mrs. Hudson, yes? Well dressed, smartly turned out and," Holmes winked at me, "not smoking."

"Why, yes, Mr. Holmes" Mrs. Hudson said, a look of surprise and amazement crossing her face.

"Well, my dear woman, send him in, send him in!" Holmes crossed the room and refilled his pipe as Mrs. Hudson led the gentleman in. He was a tall gentleman, only slightly shorter than Holmes, and, as Holmes had predicted, immaculately turned out save for a small bandage wrapped around his right hand. His face was a mask of worry and internal conflict. As his eyes fell on the figure of Holmes, his entire countenance changed an his face broke into a smile.

"Mr. Holmes," said he, "how glad I am to find you at home. I attempted to call on you last night, but alas you were otherwise engaged."

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, sir," said Holmes, holding a match to his pipe. "You know my name, but I do not know yours."

Our visitor fished in his pocket and pulled from it a small card. "My apologies, Mr. Holmes. My name is Jekyll. Dr. Henry Jekyll."

This piqued my interest and I stood up to greet the man. "A doctor, eh? And no less a doctor than Dr. Henry Jekyll. Well sir, it is a pleasure - your work to help the poor and underprivileged is an example to us all." I extended my hand to the man. "John H. Watson," said I.

Dr. Jekyll shook my hand warmly, "so at last I meet the famous Dr. Watson! I must say, doctor, it is indeed an honour." As Jekyll was talking, Holmes removed the cigarette case from his pocket and opened it.

As I shook his hand I noticed the bandage wrapped around it. "Hurt yourself, old boy?"

"Oh, that's nothing. Had an accident with a test tube yesterday morning."

"Cigarette, doctor?" said Holmes and held the case out to Jekyll.

"Why, Mr. Holmes! My cigarette case! How glad I am to see that you have it!"

"Indeed, sir." Holmes said and passed the case back to it's owner. "But perhaps you could tell me how it came into my possession?"

Jekyll removed a cigarette and struck a match. "Of course, Mr. Holmes" he said, lighting the cigarette and blowing the smoke out through his nostrils. "I visited yesterday night to seek your advice on a most...worrisome matter. Your delightful landlady Mrs..." his voice trailed off as he hunted for the name. I provided him with it and after thanking me, went on. "Your landlady Mrs. Hudson informed me you and the good doctor were out for the evening and asked me to return today. I must have taken my case out at some point during that exchange and left it behind. How good of you to return it, Mr. Holmes."

"It was no problem, I assure you" Holmes told him, signalling for the doctor to take a seat. "Now, to business. What was the matter so 'worrisome' that you sought my help?" Jekyll glanced at me, an unsure expression on his face. "I assure you, Dr. Jekyll, anything you say will be taken in the strictest confidence. My colleague Dr. Watson has assisted me on occasions innumerable and there is no more trustworthy man in all of London than he."

Jekyll smiled weakly and spoke. "Some days ago I awoke early in the morning -"

"How early?" Holmes interjected.

"Oh, about six or seven o clock. This in itself is nothing unusual as I am by nature an early riser. But on the morning in question I awoke in a state of" he glanced at our faces, "undress, shall we say, and not only this, Mr. Holmes, but the clothes I had been wearing and the bed sheets were covered in blood."

Holmes' face remained impassive, his fingers arched in front of him as he said to our visitor, "go on, sir."

"Well, of course, Mr. Holmes, I was appalled and shocked. I leapt from the bed, changed clothes and ordered my servants not to enter the room under any circumstances."

"So the room is exactly as it was?"

"Yes, exactly" replied Jekyll. "But more remarkable than the blood itself, Mr. Holmes, are the footprints."

"Footprints?" said I.

"Yes, indeed, doctor. Footprints. Leading from the open window to my bed."

Holmes stood up and walked to the mantle where he began filling his pipe. "This, Watson," he said, "is a two pipe problem, I think." He turned back to Jekyll. "Now, Dr. Jekyll, back to these footprints. You say they led from your window to where you lay, yes? I assume, therefore, that your bedroom is on the ground floor?"

Jekyll paused. "Well, no, Mr. Holmes."

Holmes raised a quizzical eyebrow. "No?"

"No. My bedroom is on the top floor of my house, sir."

"Dr. Jekyll. Return home. Leave the room exactly as it is." Holmes checked his pocket watch. "I shall be with you within the hour."

Jekyll looked utterly elated. "Then you'll take my case? Oh, Mr. Holmes, I am delighted! Within the hour, sir?"

Holmes nodded. "Within the hour."

Jekyll jumped to his feet and held his hand out to Holmes. "Mr. Holmes, a thousand thank yous." Rather than shake the Jekyll's hand, Holmes turned and stood by the window. The good doctor then turned to me and, grasping my hand said, "and Dr. Watson, thank you, sir." He retrieved his coat and hat from the stand and stood in the doorframe. "I shall be expecting you, gentlemen. Goodbye - for now" and then he was gone.

"Well," said I, returning to the breakfast table. "He was an odd one, wasn't he Holmes." I picked up the remains of an egg sandwich and began eating. Holmes in the meantime had already changed into his coat and hat.

"Put that down, Watson. We've no time for breakfast now - the game is afoot!"


	3. Dr Jekyll and Mr Holmes

CHAPTER THREE

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Holmes

We arrived at the home of Dr. Jekyll almost exactly one hour later. Met at the door by Jekyll's butler, a tall, gaunt fellow by the name of Poole, we entered and were led into the study where Jekyll had been anxiously awaiting our arrival. Upon seeing us, Jekyll sprang to his feet.

"Gentlemen, welcome!" Jekyll exclaimed, wringing my hand as once again Holmes had rebuked his offered handshake. "Can I get you anything? A drink perhaps?"

I laughed, "too early for me, old boy." Holmes dismissed the offer with a wave of his hand.

"If you could be so kind as to lead us to the room in question, doctor" said Holmes.

"Of course," said Jekyll and led us to the door. Leaving the study we climbed two flights of stairs to reach the master bedroom. As we walked, Jekyll spoke. "As you can see, gentlemen, there is no way a human being could possibly have climbed through the window. As I'm sure you noticed, Mr. Holmes, there is no means of scaling the wall from the outside."

"Indeed," Holmes said. "I trust the room is exactly how you found it?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, exactly."

"Good." We neared a door on the top floor of the house. "This is the room?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes. But I warn you, it is a grizzly sight."

Holmes arched an eyebrow and glanced at me. He took the doorknob in his hand and pushed the door open. Jekyll's warning was not an exaggeration. The room was indeed a grizzly sight. The window, as Jekyll had said was smashed and a bloody handprint smeared the glass. A trail of muddy footprints led from the window to the bed which was all but soaked in blood. A pile of bloodied clothes lay on the floor nearby. As I crossed the threshold into the room I felt a chill down my spine and, looking at Holmes, knew that, despite his disbelief in all things supernatural, he had felt it too. There was an aura of death about the place, more than that, an aura of all pervading evil.

"Well," Holmes started, "we can discount several things immediately. "One, the notion that the window was smashed from the inside. The fact that there is very little glass on the window ledge and a very great deal of glass on the floor proves this. Two, the notion that the footprints were made by Dr. Jekyll. Dr. Jekyll, I would estimate that you are slightly under six feet tall, am I right?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes. Five feet and eleven inches."

"You will therefore wear a boot in the region of size nine."

"Size nine exactly, Mr. Holmes," said Jekyll.

Holmes called to me, "Watson, come here, would you?"

I walked over to where Holmes stood and he took my arm and led me to one of the footprints. "Watson, it is of paramount importance that these footprints are not disturbed, do you understand?"

"Of course, Holmes" said I.

"Good man. Now, you're slightly shorter than the good doctor Jekyll - around five feet nine, yes? Place your foot alongside one of these footprints."

I did so and saw that my foot was much larger the footprint. "Whoever made these footprints must have been shorter than me, Holmes, around five feet five" I said.

"Precisely, Watson. Therefore, the good doctor could not have been the man who left these tracks. Now, on to the matter of how our man gained entry. The door onto the street was locked I assume?"

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Holmes. Only myself and Poole have a key."

"Naturally, doctor. So, what are we to make of the evidence we are faced with? Are we to assume that our muddy booted friend made a prodigious leap from the street up and through this window?"

"Such things have been witnessed in the past Holmes," said I. "Remember Spring Heeled Jack's reign of terror?"

Holmes' eyebrows knitted together in irritation. "Don't be ridiculous Watson. That was a classic case of mass hysteria if ever there was one. A young girl sees a man vault a wall and it gets blown out of all proportion from there. No, that can't be. Men cannot make leaps such as the one which our friend the intruder would like us to think he has made. The window was smashed before the man entered the room. He entered the room in the normal fashion, without his boots, retrieved whatever it was that he had used to smash the window - a large stone or brick perhaps - walked to the window, put on his boots, walked to the bed -"

"But Holmes," I interrupted, "why would he walk into the room without his boots only to put them on again?"

"To lead us off the track, Watson. To lead us away from the conclusion that whoever made these footprints did not leap from the ground to the window, but rather entered the house in the usual fashion and, in fact, is probably still here. The smashed window, the glass on the floor, the footprints leading from the window to the bed, all set up to make it appear as though the intruder leapt through the window to gain entry - all set up to disguise the fact that he can come and go as he pleases!"

Jekyll was visibly shaken by this statement and offered up a weak counterpoint. "But the bloody handprint, Mr. Holmes. It's on the outside of the glass."

Holmes reached through the window and placed his hand upon the outside of the glass to show how easily the handprint could have been made by someone inside the house. "It is no use searching for fingerprints, despite my monogram on the subject.

"Why ever not, Holmes?"

"Because, my dear fellow, there are none. Look at how smooth this handprint it – no lines, no grooves. The intruder wore gloves, Watson. There are no fingerprints to be found here. Now, we are faced with only one problem. The blood and from whence it came. Other than the cut on your hand, you're perfectly healthy doctor, no other wounds?"

"No, sir."

"Of course not. This amount of blood would not have come from a mere nick. Why, one would have to have severed a major artery, perhaps the jugular vein, for this amount of..." Holmes trailed off.

"Holmes?"

"Watson," Holmes said, his voice cracking, "get a sample of that blood."

I fumbled around in my Gladstone bag, looking for a suitable container as Holmes said, in hurried tones, "quickly, man, quickly." I finally found a beaker and took a small sample of the blood from the bed. I corked the lid and handed it to Holmes. To my surprise, he did not take the beaker from me and continued looking out the window.

"Now, take a blood sample from Dr. Jekyll."

"Mr. Holmes?" Jekyll began.

"Do not argue with me, doctor. I simply ask that you trust me."

I shrugged at Jekyll who obligingly began rolling up his sleeve. Holmes continued staring out the window, his fists clenched and his jaw set in a determined line as I performed the procedure on Jekyll. I took both samples over to Holmes.

"Back to Baker Street, Watson. Hurry!" said he.

"But Holmes," I began.

"But Holmes nothing, Watson. Back to Baker Street. Wait for me there." My friend turned to face me and looked directly into my eyes. "Guard those samples with your life, Watson. What you are holding may prove to be of the utmost importance not only to this case but to every honest and law abiding citizen in London." Holmes turned on his heel and made for the door. Before he left he turned and said, "now hurry, man, hurry! What a fool I am, Watson! What a damnable blundering fool!"

And with that, Holmes was gone.


	4. Dear Boss

CHAPTER FOUR

"Dear Boss..."

Holmes did not return to Baker Street until much later that night. He bounded into the sitting room and began feverishly hunting for his pipe. I enquired where he had been all these hours and he spoke feverishly in response.

"Watson," said he, "if ever again I act so foolishly as I did this morning you are to shoot me on sight, do you understand me?"

"Whatever do you mean, old man?"

"Ah-ha!" Holmes exclaimed, triumphantly, holding up his battered old Calabash. He took an ember from the fire and held it to the pipe. "Watson, my dear fellow, I have been with Inspector Lestrade."

"Then whatever are you so excited about? Ten minutes with that man is enough to depress even the hardiest of fellows."

Holmes laughed, "that may well be the case, but, alas, meeting with Lestrade was in this case an absolute necessity."

"Poor chap. But why, pray, was this meeting so necessary?"

"Because, my dear friend, Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard is one of the few men in London with the authority to admit a mere consulting detective, such as yours truly, into the morgue. I had the devil's own time trying to explain why I needed to see the body of Annie Chapman again after he," Holmes broke into an impression of Lestrade that made me laugh out loud, "'bent over backward to 'elp you already Mr. 'Olmes' - but nonetheless, he let me examine the body and, my dear fellow, I have found out a singular fact of incredible importance."

Before I could ask what this piece of information was, Holmes had strode across the room and was tinkering with his microscope. "Where is the sample of blood you took from Dr. Jekyll's bed?" I handed Holmes the sample and he asked, "and the sample from Jekyll himself?" Handing Holmes the vial containing Jekyll's blood, I sat at the other end of the table to observe my friend at work. He rummaged in a drawer for some slides and, upon finding some placed a drop of blood from each vial onto a slide. First he placed the slide containing Jekyll's blood under the microscope. Holmes was about to announce his findings when suddenly he looked at me a sly grin playing on his face. "You're a medical man, Watson. Tell me what you see."

I squinted through the microscope at the blood sample on the slide. It seemed to be a perfectly healthy, perfectly normal blood sample and this fact I relayed to Holmes.

Holmes smiled. "Exactly, Watson. Now, what do you make of this?" Holmes asked, replacing the slide containing Jekyll's blood with the slide containing the blood found on Jekyll's bed. As my eye focused on the sample I saw the unmistakable corkscrew-shaped Treponema pallidum bacterum.

"Syphilis," said I. "Unmistakably."

Holmes produced a small test tube from his coat pocket, containing a small amount of blood. "This sample, Watson, comes from the body of the unfortunate Miss Annie Chapman." He transferred a spot of blood from the tube onto a third slide and slid it under the microscope. I had already guessed what I would see. Once again, the tiny Treponema pallidum provided the tell tale signs of syphilis.

"Miss Chapman had syphilis," said I. "Undiagnosed, probably. Poor woman. Wait a minute, Holmes. Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"And what am I suggesting, my dear fellow?"

"That whoever entered Jekyll's room is the Whitechapel murderer!"

"Exactly. The blood found upon Jekyll's clothes and bed matches that of the murdered woman exactly. We know the murderer is not Dr. Jekyll, but therein lies a problem. If Jekyll is not the murderer - and we know he is not - then why was the murderer wearing a suit of Jekyll's clothes? And, furthermore, why did the murderer return Jekyll's clothes to him?"

"As you said earlier," I began, "the murderer can enter and leave Jekyll's house as he pleases. Perhaps Jekyll and the murderer are working together. Shades of Burke and Hare and Dr. Knox?"

"No, Watson, I don't think so. After all, why would a man working with a murderer come to me for help. No, that's not it, old boy." Holmes stood up and began refilling his pipe from the Persian slipper in which he kept his tobacco. I lit a cigarette and held out the match, Holmes lit his pipe from it and continued. "The murderer must have some connection to Jekyll, otherwise he would not be able to -" Holmes was cut off by the soft knock of Mrs. Hudson at the door. "Come in, Mrs. Hudson" Holmes called out.

Mrs. Hudson entered, the figure of Inspector Lestrade close behind. "Inspector Lestrade so see you, Mr. Holmes," said she.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson, thank you. Come in, Lestrade. To what do I owe the honour of seeing you twice in one night?"

"Good evening Mr. Holmes," Lestrade said, shaking Holmes' hand. "And Dr. Watson, I'm glad you're both at home."

"Evening, Lestrade" said I. "What brings you to Baker Street? There hasn't been another one, has there?"

"Thankfully no, doctor. But he's sent us a letter." Lestrade reached into his coat and produced an envelope. "This here letter was sent to the Central News Agency this morning. Scotland Yard have been investigating it, but some of the men thought you could shed some light on it for us, Mr. Holmes."

"Give it to me," Holmes said, and Lestrade passed the envelope to my friend. "'The Boss, Central News Office, London City'" Holmes read. "Red ink. The letter writer shares my flair for the dramatic, it would seem."

"Wait 'til you read the contents, Mr. Holmes" Lestrade said.

"Watson, perhaps you'd be kind enough to pour the inspector a glass of sherry while I pursue the contents of this envelope."

I complied with Holmes' wishes and poured Lestrade a drink as Holmes sunk into his chair, the pipe wreathing his head in thick blue smoke. He read aloud the letter.

"Dear Boss," Holmes began, "I keep on hearing the police have caught me, but they won't fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. I am down on whores and I shant quit ripping them 'til I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now? I love my work and want to start again, you will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I can't use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope ha ha. The next job I do I shall clip the lady's ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly - wouldn't you? Keep this letter back 'til I do a bit more work, then give it out straight. My knife's so nice and sharp, I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good luck. Yours truly, Jack the Ripper. Don't mind me giving the trade name. PS, wasn't good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands curse it. No luck yet. They say I'm a doctor now. Ha ha." Holmes sat back and sighed.

"Jack the Ripper?" said I. "What kind of monster are we dealing with?"

Just then the door burst open and two police officers rushed in, leaving poor Mrs. Hudson in their wake.

"Inspector Lestrade, sir!" cried one. "Thank God we've found you!"

"What is it?" Lestrade demanded. "Come on, man, speak up!"

The second policeman spoke.

"There's been another one, sir."


	5. A Body in Berner Street

CHAPTER FIVE

A Body in Berner Street

It was almost one o' clock in the morning by the time we arrived in Berner Street. Despite the hour, a small crowd had already gathered and, as we fought to get closer to the scene, one of Lestrade's men approached with a young lady in tow.

"Inspector Lestrade, sir," said he, "this is a Miss Catherine Eddowes. She says if the body's Liz Stride then she can identify it."

"Very good, Banner" Lestrade said, taking Miss Eddowes' arm. "This way, miss." We arrived at the body and another of Lestrade's men pulled the sheet back just far enough for Miss Eddowes to see the face. Her hysterical reaction left little doubt that the deceased was indeed Elizabeth Stride. As she ran off into the night, I asked Lestrade if he thought it wise to allow her to do so. "Never you mind about her, Dr. Watson, she'll be aright. You just concentrate on this here body."

"Watson," said Holmes, "cause and time of death if you please."

I kneeled next to the body and lifted the sheet up. The poor woman's throat had been cut with such animalistic savagery that her head had almost been severed from the body. Oddly, considering the Ripper's previous modus operandi, the cut throat was the only mutilation. The body was still warm, indicating she had not been dead long. Interestingly, the cut on her throat seemed to go from left to right, rather than right to left as had been the case with Annie Chapman. I relayed this information to Holmes who turned to Lestrade.

"Someone saw Miss Stride and her killer shortly before her death."

"Why, yes, Mr. Holmes, someone did as it happens. But how could you have known that?"

"Never mind that now. Have you questioned the witness?"

"Not yet, Mr. Holmes, but I'm about to talk to the bloke now, if you'd like to listen."

"I'd like to do a very great deal more than listen, Inspector, now where is he?"

This aggravated Lestrade. "Now, look here, Holmes, this is Scotland Yard's case, and until I hear otherwise, I'll be doing the questioning."

"Yes, yes, Lestrade, of course" said Holmes, attempting to calm the inspector down. "Where is the witness?"

"Over here, Mr. Holmes," Lestrade said, leading us over to a gentleman being held by two large and burly policemen.

"You can call off your dogs Lestrade," Holmes said. "This man isn't the killer."

"And how do you know that, Mr. Holmes?" Lestrade asked, a distinct note of pomposity in his voice. "For all we know this gentleman could be Jack the Ripper himself."

"Impossible," said I.

"Oh, so now you're the detective, doctor? And how, pray tell, did you reach this conclusion?"

"Elementary, my dear Lestrade. Look at this man's uniform. He is clearly an employee of the club that adjoins this alley."

"That's right," the man said. "You can check if you like."

"Quiet you," said Lestrade, threateningly.

"Furthermore," I continued, "this pitiable woman has not been dead more than fifteen minutes. The amount of blood that she has lost from her wound would suggest that whoever killed her would be fairly covered with blood. This man, as even a man of your limited deductive skills can see, has not a drop of blood on his person."

Lestrade huffed and said, "the man is yours to question, Mr. Holmes" before sulking off.

Holmes smiled at me. "Very good, Watson! It appears my methods of deductive reasoning are rubbing off on you at last, old boy." He turned to the witness. "Now, my good man, I trust you know who I am?"

"Of course, sir," said the man. "Everyone in London knows who Sherlock Holmes is."

"You flatter me, I'm sure. You have me at a disadvantage, sir."

"Hunter, sir. John Hunter. Like Dr. Watson said, I work at the club. You can check if you like, sir."

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Hunter. Just tell us exactly what you saw, and I'll pull a few strings with Lestrade and you'll be free to go."

"Well, sir," Hunter began, "it was about half past twelve when I went out into the alley to take out the rubbish. The sight I saw was not a new one to me sir, as Long Liz often takes her gentlemen into the alley, but something about this man made my blood run cold. I couldn't get a good look at him, sir - for decency's sake more than anything else, you understand - but there was something sinister about the man."

By now Lestrade had drifted back over and was listening in. "What'd he look like?" Lestrade asked.

"Well, sir," said Hunter, "like I told Mr. Holmes I didn't get a good look at him but there was something...bizarre about his appearance. Right short he were. Only slightly taller than Liz. And, he seemed somehow...deformed, sir."

"Merrick," one of Lestrade's men said grimly. "I knew that monster was behind this somehow."

Lestrade turned around to chastise the man for speaking out of turn but before he could Holmes said, coolly, "Joseph Merrick is not capable of harming a fly. Besides, the poor man can barley drag himself around his rooms at the hospital, much less the back alleys of Whitechapel - and I'll thank you, sir, to keep your opinions to yourself."

"I'll see you later, Aitken" Lestrade said to the man. "Go on, Mr. Hunter."

"The man I saw wasn't deformed, not really. Not like the Elephant Man anyway. There was nothing obviously wrong with him, other than being so bloody short I mean. He just had that look about him. Like he was deformed somehow, but I couldn't say exactly how or why."

Holmes thought silently for a moment, then spoke. "Mr. Hunter, what, exactly were our man and the deceased doing when you saw them?"

"Well, sir" Hunter began, uncertainly, "I don't like to say exactly."

"Come now, no need to be shy," said I. "I'm a doctor and Holmes and Lestrade are men of the world."

"You can't shock us, Mr. Hunter" Lestrade said.

Hunter swallowed. "Well, sirs, Liz was up against the wall and her gentleman was behind her. Liz's skirts were pulled up round her waist. I couldn't see - I didn't want to see, to be honest - if the man was, well, undressed."

Holmes lit his pipe and said, "thank you, Mr. Hunter, that will be all. I trust, Lestrade, that this man is free to go?"

Lestrade harrumphed and nodded.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes" said Hunter. "Wait 'til the wife hears that I was questioned by the great Sherlock Holmes!"

"What do you make of it then, Holmes?" I said after Hunter had left us.

Holmes puffed on his pipe thoughtfully for a moment or two before saying, "Watson, I think it's clear that this murder was carried out by the same man that killed Annie Chapman - this 'Jack the Ripper' as he calls himself."

Lestrade said, "but your friend Watson says the throat was slashed from left to right. I may not be as sharp as you claim to be Mr. Holmes, but I know that to cut a throat from left to right," Lestrade demonstrated on me, slashing the air in front of my neck with his left hand, "you'd have to be left handed. Chapman's throat was cut right to left, indicating a right handed man."

"Very good, Lestrade." Holmes said. "But not correct. You forget that Mr. Hunter saw the killer behind Miss Stride. He cut her throat from that position, therefore left and right would be reversed."

"Right you are, Holmes" said I. "The same man - a right handed man - could well have performed all three murders."

"Four, Watson."

"Four?" asked Lestrade.

"Four," said Holmes. "You are forgetting the murder of Miss Martha Tabram early last month. Undoubtedly the work of the Ripper. Martha Tabram, Polly Nichols, Annie Chapman and now Elizabeth Stride."

"Alright, alright" said Lestrade, "supposing this was Jack's handiwork. Why didn't he rip her up like the other women?"

"Simple, Lestrade. Mr. Hunter."

"Mr. Hunter?"

"Indeed. When Mr. Hunter saw the killer and his victim, they were not engaged in an act of carnality as he supposed. Mr. Hunter is a very special man for he has not only seen the face of the Ripper; he has seen the Ripper at work."

"In other words," said I, "the Ripper was interrupted and couldn't finish the job?"

"Precisely, Watson. Furthermore, I feel that we have not heard the last of the Ripper tonight. Murder is an insidious thing, Watson. Once a man has dipped his fingers in blood, sooner or later he'll feel the urge to kill again."

"I fear you may be right, Holmes" I said, a shiver running the length of my spine. "Where to now? Back to Baker Street?"

"Not Baker Street," said Holmes, making his way back through the small crowd. "I think we should pay a visit on our friend Dr. Jekyll."


	6. Face to Face with the Ripper

CHAPTER SIX

Face-to-Face with the Ripper

Less than an hour later, en route to the home of Dr. Jekyll, Holmes and I took a shortcut through Mitre Square. Stopping to light a cigarette, my match momentarily illuminated the area around me. As the match extinguished, Holmes' voice cried out in the darkness.

"Do not move, Watson! Not an inch."

I stood stock still as Holmes produced his matches. He kneeled at my feet and struck one, bringing an eerie illumination to my immediate vicinity. The sight I saw when I looked down will haunt me to my dying day for at my feet lay the latest example of the Ripper's terrible handiwork. I recognised the pitiable woman as Catherine Eddowes, the woman we had witnessed running off into the night less than an hour previously.

"Watson," Holmes hissed. "Cause and time of death."

"Holmes -" I began.

"Please, Watson. I would not ask if it were not of the highest importance."

I set about the grim task at hand. The body was still warm, almost as warm as it would have been in life, causing me to place the time of death at only a few minutes before we arrived.

"Then the murderer must be nearby!" Holmes cried and rushed off into the night. "Keep at it!" he called over his shoulder. "We must know the exact details of the injuries!"

As I examined the body as best as I could in the dark I discovered that the Ripper, foul creature that he was, had removed part of the woman's kidney and part of her womb. Also, as per his promise in the letter, he had clipped of part of Miss Eddowes' right ear. More disturbing still was the fact that the intestines had been removed and placed over the right shoulder. But the most disturbing thing was the sheer brutality of the attack. It would seem that the murders of Tabram, Nichols, Chapman and Stride had been but a warm up for this one act of unparalleled savagery. The amount of wounds the woman had sustained was staggering. Even her eyes, nose and cheeks had been stabbed and slashed in the Ripper's frenzied bloodlust. Jack the Ripper? Jack the Butcher would've been more appropriate. Interestingly, an examination of the kidney the Ripper had cut up revealed that the unlucky woman was suffering from Bright's disease.

I don't know how long I sat alone in Mitre Square until Holmes returned. It felt like only a few moments, but it could have been hours. I heard Holmes' voice calling out from the darkness and the fog.

"Watson? Watson, old man, are you there?"

"Here, Holmes!" I cried, thankful my friend had returned.

Holmes appeared through the blackness with a policeman at his side. "This is Constable Robinson, Watson. He'll take care of things from here. Lestrade is on his way. On to see Dr. Jekyll, quickly now. We have much to discuss en route."

Leaving Mitre Square Holmes asked, "what have you discovered from your examination?"

I relayed the facts to Holmes, pausing frequently as he scribbled notes on his cuff with a short pencil. "Excellent, Watson!" he exclaimed when I had finished. "Now, onto my story."

In examining the body of the tragic Miss Eddowes, I had all but forgotten that Holmes had rushed off in pursuit of the Ripper. "What happened?" I asked.

"In the few brief moments between discovering the body and leaving to pursue the killer, I observed a set of bloody footprints leading from the body out towards Goulston Street. After fifty yards or so the footprints naturally faded away but there were enough to show the killer had not doubled back on himself and had indeed headed into Goulston Street. Glouston Street, as you know my dear fellow, is a dead end, so I knew I had the killer trapped."

"Why would he head into a dead end, Holmes?"

"Who knows, Watson. Perhaps he thought to hide out in there until he could make his escape or perhaps he meant to scale the wall at the end of Goulston and escape. Either way, I had him cornered."

"So you have come face to face with Jack the Ripper?"

"Indeed I have. And Mr. Hunter's description of him was most apt."

"What does he look like?"

"He is not easy to describe, Watson. There is something wrong with his appearance; something displeasing, something downright detestable. With the possible exception of the late Professor Moriarty, I never saw a man I so disliked and yet I scarce know why. He gives, like Mr. Hunter said, a strong feeling of deformity. He is an extraordinary looking man. If ever I read Satan's signature upon a face, it is on that of Jack the Ripper."

"Did you confront him?"

"Naturally. Oh, don't make that face, old man. With my knowledge of Baritsu, I was far from unarmed. Besides, he did not offer me violence. He did however, offer up a name."

"Good Lord, Holmes!" I exclaimed. "What was said?"

"Initially, he tried to run, but upon seeing he was cornered he turned to face me. 'So this is the great Sherlock Holmes' he sneered. 'Indeed," said I, 'and who might you be, my good man?' The man known as Jack the Ripper smiled a smile of absolute evil as he held out his hand to me, 'Hyde,' said he, 'Edward Hyde. The name is meaningless to you, Mr. Holmes, so I have no qualms about giving it to you.'"

"Edward Hyde," I said, pondering the name for a moment or two. I had to admit, it held no meaning for me.

"Nor I" said Holmes.

"What happened then, Holmes?"

"Well, needless to say, I did not take the man's hand. Hyde sniffed in mock outrage at my 'lack of civility' and then gave me a warning. 'Stay away from me, Mr. Holmes," he said, 'and abandon your work on this case. You may not like what you find.' And with that, he was gone. Vaulting the wall with impressive athleticism, he disappeared into the fog."

"Holmes, do you think it's wise to -" I was interrupted by the scream of a young girl that sounded like it had only come from a few hundred years ahead. Holmes broke into a run.

"Come on, Watson!" he cried, "and let us hope Hyde has not struck again!"


	7. Sir Danvers Carew

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sir Danvers Carew

Sprinting through the fog, we came across the body of a young girl. Immediately fearing the worst, I kneeled beside her and checked her vital signs.

"She's alive, thank God. Poor girl has been trampled half to death" I said.

"Is she conscious?" asked Holmes.

I responded in the negative and Holmes suggested I stay with her whilst he pressed on to Dr. Jekyll's house. "Time is of the essence, Watson. I must reach Dr. Jekyll tonight" Holmes insisted.

"You had a lucky escape last time, Holmes" said I, picking the girl up in my arms. "I'm not letting you go after that monster alone again. We wil take the girl with us, there is a police station nearby - we can drop her off there."

"Very well, old man. Let's go" Holmes said, pressing on.

After a short while the girl came to and Holmes began to question her. From her description of her attacker, it became clear that she had indeed been set upon by Mr. Hyde.

"Beastly, Holmes. Trampling an innocent girl almost to death - and for no other reason than she was in his way."

"I have come to expect nothing less from Mr. Hyde, Watson. Here is the police station. I shall wait for you here."

After I had left the girl in the police's care, Holmes and I resumed our walk. Holmes kept a brisk pace through the streets of Whitechapel and I found myself almost running to keep alongside my friend. By now the sun was starting to rise over the city and, checking my pocket watch, I realised I hadn't slept in almost 48 hours. A wave of exhaustion came over me almost immediately upon realising this, but Holmes was seemingly unaffected by the lack of sleep. His grey eyes were even more steely than they usually were and his jaw was set in a determined line as he strode though the fog towards the home of Dr. Henry Jekyll.

As we approached the doctor's house, we came upon yet another example of Hyde's depravity. In the gutter lay a broken body, male this time, bruised and bloodied but not beyond the point of recognition. I immediately recognised the kind face of Sir Danvers Carew, M.P. and friend of both myself and Holmes.

"Sir Danvers!" I cried, kneeling beside the body of my friend. "Who has done this to you?"

Sir Danvers was too weak to answer and could merely point his finger in the direction of Jekyll's house which stood, looming over us at the end of the street. Holmes kneeled beside me and asked Sir Danvers who had attacked him. Sir Danvers tried to speak, but could not. The life seemed to drain from his face as he breathed his last and slumped in my arms. I closed the eyes of the man who had once been a friend to Holmes and myself and carried him out of the gutter. Holmes meanwhile was studying a broken off piece of cane.

"What've got there, Holmes?" I asked.

Holmes did not respond but rather took off running towards Jekyll's house.

"But, Sir Danvers!" I called to Holmes.

"Nothing you can do for him now, Watson!" Holmes called back, "he'll still be there when we get back! Come on! Hurry, old boy, hurry!"

By the time I caught up with Holmes he was already at Jekyll's door. After hammering on the door to no avail, Holmes tried the handle and the door flew open. Holmes rushed up the two flights of stairs and into Jekyll's bedroom. Upon the bed, his clothes and skin soaked in blood, lay Dr. Henry Jekyll.

"Wake him up, Watson."

I attempted to rouse Jekyll, but the man was deeply unconscious. Holmes strode to the bed and twice struck Jekyll about the face sharply. The eyes groggily opened and Jekyll groaned.

"Good morning, doctor" said Holmes, grabbing Jekyll and pulling his to his feet.

"Steady," said I, "leave him lying down for the time being until I can examine him."

"Sorry, old boy, but it is imperative that I see Dr. Jekyll stand up." Holmes hoisted the Jekyll to his feet and Jekyll, crying out in pain slumped to the floor, clutching his feet. Upon examining the man, I discovered his feet were crammed into boots that were several sizes too small for him. I eased the boots off and Jekyll sighed in relief. Then, becoming aware of his surroundings, he spoke.

"Mr. Holmes?" said he. "What're you doing here?" Then, realising he was fairly soaked in blood he cried out in shock. "Blood! It has happened again!"

"Indeed it has, doctor" Holmes said mysteriously. Holmes picked up one of the boots and asked, "to whom do these boots belong, Dr. Jekyll?"

Jekyll looked at the boot. "I have no idea, sir. I've never even seen those boots before."

"Well perhaps then you would offer up some explanation as to how they ended up upon your feet?"

Jekyll was about to respond when Poole knocked on the door. Jekyll hurried into a robe, covering his blood stained clothing and told Poole to enter. His face as he crossed the room to meet Jekyll held an expression of surprise. Whilst Jekyll's attention was diverted, Holmes had noticed something half hidden behind the bed. Holmes removed it and hid it inside his coat before I could see what it was.

"Good morning, Poole" Jekyll said, trying to affect an air of normality. "What're you looking so surprised about?"

"Well, sir," Poole began, "I thought you were out."

"Out?"

"Yes, sir. I saw you leaving by the laboratory entrance last night. At least, I thought it was you sir. You are the only one with a key to the laboratory."

"You must be mistaken, Poole. I have not left the house since yesterday morning."

"But, sir," Poole protested.

"I have not left this house since yesterday morning, Poole. That is the end of it. Now, what do you want?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you so early, sir," Poole began, "but there was a Mr. Hyde with a message, sir."

"Hyde? Here?" I cried.

"No longer here, Dr. Watson, but the name he gave was Hyde. Mr. Edward Hyde. He left something, sir."

"For me?" Jekyll asked.

"No, sir. For Mr. Holmes, sir." And with that, Poole produced a small box with a note attached and handed it to Holmes.

"Thank you, Poole, that will be all."

"Very good, sir" Poole said and left.

"What is it, Holmes?" I asked.

Holmes opened the envelope and read the letter aloud. "From Hell. Sir, I send you half the kidney I took from one woman. The other piece I will fry and eat. I'm sure it shall be very nice. I may send you the bloody knife that took it out if only you'll wait a while longer. Signed Jack the Ripper. PS, catch me when you can, Mr. Holmes."

"Half a kidney?" I said. "Disgusting."

"Yes, Watson. Makes one quite unkeen to open the accompanying box" Holmes said, fingering the small box. Finally he opened it and held it out for Jekyll and I to see. True to his word, Hyde had left for us half of a human kidney.

"My God!" Jekyll exclaimed. "Let me see the note, Mr. Holmes,"

Holmes passed the note to Jekyll and in doing so Jekyll sustained a small paper cut.

"My sincere apologies, doctor" Holmes said, holding out his handkerchief to Jekyll.

"Apologies are not necessary, Mr. Holmes, the fault was entirely my own." Jekyll took the handkerchief from Holmes and wrapped it around his finger, staining the crisp white linen with crimson blood.

Holmes turned to Jekyll. "Dr. Jekyll, Watson and I must return to Baker Street. We have both been awake for almost two days and we need rest. I will report this to the correct authorities. It is of the utmost import that you do not leave the house until we return. Is this understood?"

"Well, yes, Mr. Holmes."

Holmes smiled. "Now, to bed, Dr. Jekyll. You've had a busy night."

"What do you mean by that, Mr. Holmes."

"Exactly what I said, doctor. Good morning."


	8. Theory is the Birthplace of Fact

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Theory is the Birthplace of Fact."

In the street in front of Jekyll's house, I hailed a hansom and, as it clattered through Whitechapel towards Baker Street I asked Holmes why he had been so determined to get to Jekyll's house only to stay for such a short time.

"Because, my dear fellow," Holmes said, "I needed prove my theory. I needed to know if Hyde would be expecting us at Dr. Jekyll's. You will remember we established that Hyde can enter and leave Jekyll's abode as pleases. In a manner of speaking this is true, though not quite. There must be an external force which causes Hyde to emerge."

"Emerge, Holmes? Whatever do you mean?"

"Watson," he began, "you know I am not prone to wild flights of fancy so you must take me entirely seriously when I tell you that it is my belief that Dr. Henry Jekyll and Mr. Edward Hyde are somehow one and the same."

"What? Preposterous!"

"No, Watson. Consider the evidence. Annie Chapman's blood found on Jekyll's clothes. The footprints, far too small to have been Jekyll's - but this morning we find him wearing boots too small for his feet. The fact that Poole saw someone he assumed to be his master leaving last night and was surprised to find Jekyll at home this morning. The fact that Hyde, who knew he was being followed by me, left a message for me at Jekyll's house before mysteriously disappearing. The fact that Hyde returns to Jekyll's house after the murders."

"But how can a man physically transform into another? It's impossible – this time you have gone too far."

"You are a doctor, Watson, are you not? You have heard of psychosomatic illness, I presume?"

"Well of course, but only as a theory."

"Theory is the birthplace of fact, my dear friend. We can place Mr. Hyde at the scene of at least two of the five Ripper murders. He is responsible for at least more - one that we can prove anyway." He removed part of a cane from the inside of his coat. It matched the one we found on the body of Sir Danvers Carew. "This walking stick I found half hidden behind Jekyll's bed matches the one used to beat Sir Danvers Carew to death. We know Hyde is responsible for the note I received not fifteen minutes ago. The note contained a piece of kidney, which I'm sure will show, when examined, signs of Bright's disease; the disorder from which you yourself noted Catherine Eddowes suffered. By his own admission, Watson, he is Jack the Ripper."

"That Hyde is the Ripper is not in question. What is in question is the notion that Jekyll and Hyde are the same man!"

"Watson, the evidence is clear."

"So what would you have us do, Holmes? March into Jekyll's bedroom with Lestrade and Gregson in tow and arrest the man?"

"Of course not, my dear fellow. I would have us return to our lodgings and rest. You look exhausted, old boy."

I smiled at my friend. "To be honest, Holmes, I am."

"Then to Baker Street. And a well earned rest!"

When we arrived back at 221B Baker Street I immediately retired to my room and almost instantly fell into a fitful sleep. I awoke some hours later, feeling no more well rested than when I went to sleep. Holmes, on the other hand was curled up in his chair, his pipe puffing out thick blue smoke that almost gave the impression that the room was on fire and his eyes firmly closed. The fact that his pipe was going told me he was not asleep and so I sat down across the room and began reading the newspaper. I had interrupted Holmes while he was in this state before and suffered the consequences, so I let Holmes be. It was over an hour before he finally spoke.

"Watson," he began, "do you still have access to the records at the London Hospital?"

"Well, yes, Holmes."

"Good. I need you to do something for me. Something somewhat questionable."

"Whatever do you mean?" I asked.

"You, my dear Watson, are the one man in London who can help me stop Jack the Ripper. Lestrade can gain me entry to the morgue, but not the records department. Only a doctor such as your good self Watson can access those files. And believe me when I tell you, Watson, this entire case may hinge of my seeing one file."

I knew that accessing the files contained in the records department of the London Hospital for anything other than legitimate medical reasons was illegal, but then if Holmes said it was it was vital in stopping Hyde, then that was reason enough to do it for me. I told Holmes I would do it.

"Good old Watson!" Holmes exclaimed. "I knew you wouldn't let me - let England - down! Now, onto this kidney." Holmes leapt from his chair and strode to a table across the room upon which lay Miss Eddowes' kidney, already dissected by Holmes, and a copy of Dr. Bell's "Manual of the Operations of Surgery" propped up and open to a page on kidney disorders. "My examination, admittedly, an amateur one, shows that the kidney Hyde sent us is indeed the kidney of Miss Catherine Eddowes. This proves unequivocally, that Hyde is Jack the Ripper. This is the kind of evidence that gets a conviction, Watson!"

"Indeed, Holmes" said I.

"You are well rested, I take it?" Holmes asked.

"Rested yes, but I don't think I shall be well rested until Hyde is behind bars."

"All the more reason to press on, old fellow. Make haste to the hospital. Speak to your friend Mr. Treves the surgeon - he's a trustworthy sort. I must have the complete medical history of Dr. Henry Jekyll."

"Whatever for, Holmes?"

"There must be a catalyst for Jekyll's transformation into Hyde. An event in the good doctor's past, perhaps from childhood that caused this psychosomatic disorder. This illness of the brain that causes, not only his personality to completely alter, but his physical appearance too."

"You know, Holmes," I said, "there's an Austrian fellow pursuing just this line of research. Sigmund someone. Perhaps Freddie knows something about it. He likes to keep up to date with the latest medical findings."

"Good fellow. To the hospital, Watson. And quickly!"


	9. External Forces

CHAPTER NINE

External Forces

I returned to Baker Street almost three hours later to find Holmes in his chair, playing his violin. The melody was one of my favourites and so I slipped into the room silently to let Holmes finish before I announced my presence. When he had finished he set the violin down and spoke.

"Good afternoon, Watson."

"Good Lord Holmes, I barley made a sound! I exclaimed. "However did you know I had arrived?"

"You were at the London Hospital, old man. The smell of Joseph Lister's carbolic acid is unmistakable."

"Well", I said jokingly, "what have you been up to since I've been gone? Fiddling while Rome burns, eh?"

Holmes laughed and asked me what I had found. Much to the surprise of my friend, I removed a large file from my Gladstone bag and placed it in front of him. Rather than pursue the file and take notes I had spirited the entire file from the hospital.

"The complete medical records of Henry Jekyll, M.D., said I.

"Watson! You have excelled yourself this time, my dear fellow!" Holmes began searching, almost feverishly, though the pages in the file.

"Perhaps if you tell me what you're looking for I'll be able to help, Holmes" I suggested.

"I don't know" Holmes said, scanning the page. "I'll know it when I see it."

In a matter of minutes Holmes had spread the sheets across the table and was staring at them, his sharp eyes flicking from page to page as his pipe puffed thick, acrid smoke into the room. Suddenly, his eyes closed and he frowned.

"Nothing, Holmes?"

"Not a thing, Watson" Holmes said. As he slumped back to his chair, I picked up a sheet at random and read it.

"Hello, look at this. It seems the good doctor has been using himself as a guinea pig."

"What was that, Watson?"

"Well," said I, "since July of this year, Jekyll has been treated nine times having had ingested various concoctions of chemicals." I read aloud from the notes: "'In each instance the patient has made a full recovery but not before going through fits of violent and destructive temper.'"

"Watson!" Holmes sprang to his feet and slapped me on the back. "You've got it! Don't you see what this means?"

"I'm afraid I don't, old boy" I admitted.

"Some people, without possessing genius, have a remarkable power of stimulating it! I confess, my dear fellow, that I am very much in your debt! Psychosomatic illness" Holmes scoffed, "I must be a lunatic myself!"

"I don't follow you, Holmes."

"'Now if I do that I would not, it is no more that I do it, but sin that dwelleth within me'" Holmes said, quoting Romans 7:20. "In each of us, my dear Watson, there are two sides. The side we show the world and the side we keep hidden, yes?"

"Well, yes Holmes. The duality of man's nature is as old as man himself."

"I read up on your 'Sigmund someone' while you were away, old man. It is his belief that the thoughts and desires banished to the unconscious mind motivate the behaviour of the conscious mind. If someone banishes all evil to their unconscious in an attempt to be good, as Jekyll has done, it consequences in a character of pure evil - Mr. Hyde. The good doctor must have discovered a way to separate the two. His hospitalisations for poisoning suggest to me that the method for separating good and evil is chemical in form. A potion or salve derived from a combination of several different chemicals."

I was catching on and said, "yes, Holmes - the fact that whilst in hospital Jekyll displayed a 'violent and destructive' temper bears that out. 'Violent and destructive' - a fitting description of Hyde if ever I heard one."

"Indeed, Watson. But yet we still don't know what the trigger is. What causes Jekyll to become Hyde. The potion must have taken control of his body as he seemingly no longer needs to ingest the potion for a transformation to occur. The unfortunate fellow may still be labouring in his laboratory trying to perfect the formula as, as we have seen, he is completely unaware of Hyde's existence. Unknowingly, Jekyll hit on the correct combination of chemicals, said chemicals took over his body and have been waging a war within him since."

"All without Jekyll's knowledge. Poor fellow. But what could the catalyst be?"

"It can't be something in the blood. We examined Jekyll's blood the day of the double event and found nothing out of the ordinary. It must be –" Holmes trailed off.

"What is it, Holmes?"

"Blood Watson! Blood! You will recall the day we first met Henry Jekyll?"

"Of course" said I.

"Describe to me his appearance."

"Seemed perfectly normal to me."

"No, Watson. Think."

I racked my brains but could not imagine what Holmes was driving at.

"The man had a bandage on his hand, do you remember?"

"Ah, yes" I said. "Cut it on a test tube if memory serves."

Holmes' eyes seemed to be positively burning. "And when was that?"

"September the ninth, Holmes."

"But he said it had happened the previous day, September the eighth."

I realised the significance of that date. "The day Annie Chapman was murdered!"

"Now, think back, when did we take the sample of Jekyll's blood?"

I finally saw what Holmes was getting at. The colour flushed from my face and a chill came over me as I said, "the day of the double event."

"Do you realise what this means, Watson? When Dr. Jekyll is cut or injured, he transforms into Mr. Hyde! That is the trigger!" Holmes began gathering up the papers and putting them back into Jekyll's file. Suddenly his face took on a ghastly pallor and his pipe fell from his mouth. "Good Lord."

"What is it?"

"Dr. Jekyll cut himself this morning. A paper cut, granted, but an injury nonetheless."

"My God, Holmes, I remember! It was deep enough to draw blood! Hyde may be stalking the streets at this very minute!"

Holmes threw on his coat and hat and ran towards the door. "Hurry Watson, hurry! If Hyde is indeed stalking the streets, then God help London!"


	10. The Ten Bells

CHAPTER TEN

The Ten Bells

Holmes himself drove the hansom that clattered like a bat out of hell down the cobbled streets of Whitechapel towards the home of Henry Jekyll. When we arrived, Holmes leapt down from the cab and rushed to Jekyll's door. He knocked franticly as I got out of the hansom and ran to the door. When there was no answer, Holmes tried the door knob and - to my surprise but not, evidently, Holmes' - the door swung open. I was about to hurry in when Holmes held up a hand to stop me.

"No, no, Watson. Hyde may yet be lurking inside. Do you have your revolver, old boy?"

"Of course," said I, producing my trusty old service revolver.

"Good. I too, am armed. Shoot only if absolutely necessary. Remember, Hyde is a monster, but within that monster lurks Dr. Jekyll." Holmes stepped over the threshold into the darkness of the hall. Our eyes took a moment to adjust to the change in light but when they did we were faced with a horrible sight. The hall was completely wrecked; tapestries were ripped down, paintings were slashed, the banister was broken and, in the middle of this carnage, lay Poole, Jekyll's old family retainer, battered and bruised, but alive.

"My God, Poole" said I, keeling beside the old butler, "what happened here?"

I helped Poole sit up and he spoke in a broken voice. The tale he told Holmes and I beggared belief but confirmed everything than Holmes had said.

"Shortly after you left, Mr. Holmes," Poole began, "I went to Dr. Jekyll's room and I saw that he had cut himself. I approached to help and the doctor turned to me with a wild look in his eyes. He looked more animal than man; like a savage beast."

"Then what?" Holmes asked.

"Then, sir...oh God..." Poole's voice trailed off.

"Poole! Poole, what happened next!" Holmes pressed.

"Mr. Holmes, you will think me mad but...as the doctor started at me his features - the features I had known since he was born - changed. They changed, before my very eyes, Mr. Holmes, into the evil face of Mr. Hyde!"

"Hyde!" I ejaculated. "Is he still here?"

"Of course he isn't, Watson" Holmes said examining a shard of glass he had found embedded in the rug, "the devil could be halfway across London by now!"

"Then what are we waiting for?" said I, rushing outside and hailing a hansom. Holmes and I put helped Poole inside and I told the driver to take him to the London hospital immediately. "Ask for Sir William Gull; say Dr. Watson sent you, there's a good chap" I said.

"God bless you, Dr. Watson," Poole said gratefully, "and God bless you too, Mr. Holmes."

"Just see that you get to the hospital, Poole" said I and the hansom sped off.

"What now, Holmes?" I asked.

"Now, Watson my dear fellow, we find Hyde."

"But how? As you said, he could be halfway across London by now."

"How right you are, Watson. But Hyde will not go halfway across London. He will not even leave Whitechapel."

"Whitechapel is a very large area, Holmes" I said as we climbed into another hansom.

"Then we must work quickly, old man." Holmes said to the driver "the Ten Bells public house, driver, quickly now!"

As the coach sped off I asked Holmes why we were heading to the Ten Bells. In response Holmes handed me the piece of glass he had found and his magnifying glass. Under the lens I could see that the shard was from a pint glass. Etched onto the surface of the glass was "10B."

"It is common practise in this part of London for publicans to etch the name or initials of their establishment onto the glasses to discourage theft."

"Evidently it did not discourage Hyde" I commented.

"It would seem that very little would discourage Hyde from his demonic work" Holmes said, a grim look of resolve coming over his face.

The hansom arrived at the Ten Bells and, after paying the driver, I hurried inside after Holmes who, in his single-minded determination to catch Hyde, had already leapt from the cab and entered the pub. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the light and the fog of smoke was as thick as any of London's pea soupers. The denizens of the pub looked up from their drinks at us and I suddenly felt distinctly out-of-place. Holmes spoke, his voice instantly commanding respect.

"Many of you recognise me," Holmes announced, "as I have been personally responsible for the prosecution of several of your number. For those of you who don not recognise me, I am Sherlock Holmes." Holmes paused, then added "and I need your help."

A low murmur echoed through the public house at the mention of Holmes' name. A particularly rough looking character near the back stood up.

"And why should we help you?" the ruffian shouted. "You sent my brother to the gallows!"

"Your brother murdered three men, Waxman" Holmes said, coolly.

I sensed trouble brewing and suggested to Holmes that we find out what we came to find out as quickly as possible.

"I quite agree, Watson. I am no mood to trade fists today. Especially not with the likes of Waxman here."

The landlord spoke. "Mr. Holmes, what do you want?"

"Information, my good man" Holmes said and walked to the centre of the pub. "There is, at this very moment, a monster stalking the streets of London - and you can help me find and stop him."

"How?" asked a voice from the back of the pub.

"By answering a very simple question."

The landlord again spoke. "To stop Jack the Ripper? Ask anything, Mr. Holmes."

"Where is," Holmes said, "Mr. Edward Hyde?"

A hushed silence fell over the pub. "We don't know anyone by that name, sir" the landlord said eventually.

"So it's like that, is it?" Holmes asked. "You don't know him, never seen him, never heard of him." Holmes scanned the faces of the men in the pub before settling on one he knew. "Well, well, well, if it's not Maurice Stark. The bare knuckle boxer known as the 'Brick Lane Bruiser.' Too scared to challenge Hyde to a bout, eh?" Holmes continued scanning the faces. "Hello, here's Giles Conover - the man who stole the infamous Pearl of Death from under my nose, reduced to hiding out in a Whitechapel pub." Again, Holmes looked around. "Look, Watson," said he, "it's our old friend Hal Moffat. How could we have missed the 'Hoxton Creeper' - a man who would snap your spine as soon as look at you. You could do your country a great service and break the back of Edward Hyde. But you're too afraid. You're all too afraid. The most feared men in London, trembling in terror at the very mention of the name Edward Hyde."

"You go too far, Mr. Holmes!" It was Giles Conover who spoke.

"Then tell me where this man is and I shall be gone."

Again, the same silence.

"He was here, Mr. Holmes." It was the landlord who spoke. "But he left. About an hour ago."

"Where did he go?" Holmes asked.

"I don't know sir, I swear to God, I don't know."

"Did he leave with anyone?" Holmes pressed.

"Yes, sir. Redheaded lass. Pretty."

"A name!"

"I don't know, sir."

Holmes threw his hands up in exasperation. The turned on the drinkers, his eyes narrow slits.

"A name. Only one among you - you, the most dangerous men in London - has the nerve to speak up and what is he? A thief? A killer? A rapist? No, he is a publican. You disgust me, damn you." Holmes turned on his heel. "Come Watson. These cowards are of no use to us."

As we were leaving, a deep voice said, "Mary Kelly." It was the voice of Hal Moffat - the Hoxton Creeper. Holmes stopped and turned to face him.

"Mary Kelly?"

Moffat nodded as Holmes scribbled the name on his cuff.

"Thank you, Mr. Moffat" Holmes said. Moffat again merely nodded.

"Come on, Watson" Holmes cried as he again turned to leave the pub. "We haven't one moment to lose!"


	11. The Only Way

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Only Way

"Where are we headed?" I asked as Holmes fairly dragged me outside the Ten Bells and across the road to where a group of about six women were gathered. Their appearance left little doubt as to their occupation - the oldest in the world, as the old saying goes.

"Watson," Holmes said, "if you want information on a disease, see a doctor. If you want information on a jewel, see a jeweller. If you want information on the whereabouts of a prostitute, see another prostitute." Holmes said the word with his characteristic detachment.

As we drew near the group of women, they saw the relative finery of our clothes and gathered round us, offering up their wares as a butcher in the market offers his prime cuts.

"Listen to me. I am Sherlock Holmes, of Baker Street. You will have, no doubt, heard of me. One of your own is in grave danger; her life hangs in the balance for at this very moment she is in the company of Jack the Ripper."

The women gasped at this, but before Holmes could say more, a tough looking man emerged from a nearby doorway.

"I don't care if you're Sherlock Holmes, the Lord Mayor of London or Christ All-bloody-mighty," he growled, "get away from my girls and don't be filling their heads with no nonsense about Jack the Ripper."

"Sir," said Holmes, "these are not 'your girls.'"

"I've warned you once, there won't be another warning!" the man said, snarling at Holmes and I.

"Indeed, sir. Now, ladies, if you could be so kind -" Holmes was cut off by a backhanded blow across the face from the fleshmonger which knocked Holmes into me and almost sent me to the ground.

Holmes wiped the blood from his lip and said to me and the women "you are all witnesses to this. I am acting in self defence." Holmes assumed a boxer's stance and held his fists up to the man. "Only a scoundrel strikes with the back of the hand, sir" said Holmes and lunged at the man with a jab to the jaw that jerked the man's head back. The next few minutes were decidedly one sided with Holmes' straight left against the slogging ruffian. When the panderer lay in the gutter unconscious, Holmes again turned to the gathered women and asked them what he had intended to.

"Do any of you know Miss Mary Kelly?"

They seemed reluctant to answer.

"You have nothing to fear, believe me. If you do not help me, Miss Kelly will tonight die the worst death imaginable. I can prevent this and I can stop Jack the Ripper, but you must help me."

One voice piped up. It belonged to a young woman who said, "I know Mary. If you're looking for her, she'll be in her room at Miller's Court. Number twelve or thirteen, I think."

Holmes uncharacteristically smiled at the young woman. "Thank you," said he. "You may have saved your friend's life tonight. Come Watson!"

As we rushed towards Miller's Court - it was not worth taking a hansom as it was only a few streets away - Holmes was silent. He was running full pelt through the streets and I had trouble keeping up as we all but sprinted across the uneven streets to reach Miller's Court. Suddenly, Holmes skidded to a stop as we passed by an old fence - stopping so suddenly that I almost ran into him.

"What is it, old man?" I asked.

Holmes reached across to the fence and produced a single red hair that was clinging to the rotten wood.

"Holmes! The landlord of the Ten Bells said Mary Kelly was a redhead! They must have passed by this way!"

Before I had even finished speaking, Holmes was off again, this time running in a full sprint. I ran after him and before two minutes had passed we reached Miller's Court. Miller's Court is a cul-de-sac just off Dorset Street and, as we rushed in, we heard a woman scream from behind the door of number thirteen Miller's Court.

"Watson! Thirteen!" Holmes cried as I was closer to the door than he. I tried the door, but, alas, it was locked. I heard Holmes shout, "stand aside Watson!" and just as I did Holmes barrelled past me and threw himself, shoulder first at the door. It did not budge so, as Holmes backed off for another run at it, I gripped either side of the frame and hit it soundly with the sole of my foot. I felt the door give way slightly and called to Holmes.

"One more should do it, Holmes!"

As Holmes flung himself at the door, it opened from the inside and Holmes and I tumbled into the room, landing at the feet of Edward Hyde. On the bed lay the prone figure of Mary Kelly, unconscious but alive. Above us, Hyde chuckled softly.

"So, we meet again, Mr. Holmes." Hyde's voice was as hideous as his countenance. "Only this time you're in your natural place - at my feet."

Holmes all but sprang to his feet and, as I got to mine, Hyde regarded me with contempt.

"This must be the famous Dr. Watson. It is a pleasure, doctor" Hyde said, smiling a broken-toothed grin. "Now, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I have work to attend to." With this, Hyde swung his fist at Holmes and cracked him on the side of the head with seemingly inhuman force. Holmes toppled into me and I lost my footing and fell to the ground. I managed to protect my head in the fall otherwise I would surely have been knocked out on the stone floor. Hyde did not notice I was still conscious and, laughing horribly, turned back to Mary Kelly. As he raised his knife into the air I took my pistol and, taking careful aim at his upheld hand, squeezed the trigger.

The bullet went through Hyde's hand and embedded itself in the wall behind him. Hyde roared in pain and dropped the knife and Holmes and I got to our feet. Holmes, by this point, had taken out his revolver and was aiming at Hyde, as I was. Snarling like a wild animal, Hyde turned on Holmes and I and began stalking towards us, grasping his bloody hand. When Hyde got within three steps of us, he stopped suddenly and a strange look came across his face. For a fleeting moment, he took on the appearance of Jekyll, then all too quickly, his features moulded themselves back into those of Hyde and, with murderous rage in his eyes, he advanced again.

He was almost upon us when, once again, he stopped and some sort of terrible battle between good and evil played out on his face. His features shifted back and forth between those of Jekyll and Hyde and, in a horrible, guttural voice he cried out "Holmes! Holmes! I remember! I remember everything! Oh, God help me!" His physiognomy became that of Henry Jekyll and a look of realisation came over his face in a wave. "Jack the Ripper!" said he. "I am Jack the Ripper! God forgive me!"

Holmes and I lowered our weapons but as we did Jekyll again became Hyde and he threw himself upon Holmes, knife raised, ready to attack. As he flew through the air, Holmes raised his pistol and fired one shot almost directly at Hyde's heart. The impact of the shot seemed to stop Hyde in mid air and he crumpled to the ground.

I rushed to the dying man's side as his face once again morphed into that of the good doctor Henry Jekyll. Holmes joined me at his side.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes" he said. "Thanks for the bullet. It was the only way. May God have mercy on my soul."

His eyes closed as he breathed his last and the life of the unhappy Henry Jekyll came to an end.


	12. Epilouge: The Strange Case

EPILOUGE

THE STRANGE CASE

The events I have related to you took place exactly one year ago. I have just returned from the grave of Henry Jekyll, M.D. where I have placed a small wreath of flowers. The newspapers, once brimming with stories of Jack the Ripper, have moved on to other horrors, and the Ripper has become a sort of bogeyman - parents warn their children that bad behaviour will bring Jack the Ripper to their bedsides in the night. The story of this case, surely the greatest in Holmes' illustrious career must go unpublished. The world must remember Jekyll as the man of healing that he was, not the monster he became. This manuscript will be hidden. The world is not yet ready for the shocking true facts of the Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

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